


of little import

by bee_bro



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Bickering, Bonding At A Pub, Canon Compliant, Discovering Queerness In The Old Days, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Friends to Lovers, M/M, No Homophobia, Not Beta Read, Philip-sided, Post-Canon, Semi-Slow Burn, Sweet, Tax evasion, We Die Like Men, also not too periodically accurate, barnum needs a hug, because this is silly, charity honey im so sorry she's ok tho she just ditched phineas's ass, don't know how i pulled that off, gets a boyfriend instead, i did 0 research this was written on an airplane, kind of, soft, suprisingly little to no internalized homophobia!, the Teen rating is because Philip's inner monologue is sweary, what's going on in barnum's head is as much a mystery as it's ever been
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23257624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bee_bro/pseuds/bee_bro
Summary: Barnum turns up back at the circus after months of radio silence, with a weight on his shoulders and a habit of making Philip feel things.
Relationships: P. T. Barnum & Phillip Carlyle, P. T. Barnum/Phillip Carlyle
Comments: 4
Kudos: 57





	of little import

**Author's Note:**

> so guess who wrote the first half of this in 2017 and then has been periodically coming back to it to try and finish? THIS dumbass.

P.T. Barnum was baffling.

The man had started his own circus for fucks sake, had made it famous, had made people from all around gravitate into its cheer and infuriating, manic air.

And then he left it all to Philip.

Taking over the show came as easily as slipping on a worn shoe - except one a few sizes too big. It took Philip a month of sleep deprivation and always being in a hurry to finally realize that he wasn't there to fill Barnum's place as a leader but rather to carve out his own.

From then on, things started picking up. He got around to the circus's piece-of-crap filing and legal papers that still had Barnum's recognizable bullshiterry all over them, got to picking through the mail, got to signing that deal for importing a new elephant.

The crowd loved them but whenever performances weren't on, the cast kept being problematic just for the sake of it. It wasn't uncommon to be told that "yeah someone's looking for you in the back" only to find that it was blatantly untrue - and look at that! he's late to something again. They did it jokingly (at least he fucking hoped they did), jabbing him here and there, but after a month, everyone bubbled down and reestablished their routines from before the fire. Once again - a big unified family who put everything into the show because honestly, who else did they have but each other?

So when Phineas Taylor Barnum appeared right back at their (hypothetical because it was a tent) doorstep, everyone had to do a double – triple take.

It’d been at least three months but had felt like both an eternity and only a few seconds. Philip somehow wasn’t there when the former boss first showed up. He only heard from a feverishly urgent shout in his direction – “Barnum’s here!” and then Philip was off. He vaulted over barrels and ropes, people’s legs, a pile of old newspapers, and finally got to the left tent where most costumes and props were kept- because what the fuck? The man had dropped off everyone’s map. He might’ve felt dumb for running but the chance of Barnum somehow vanishing into thin air was much greater than him responsibly staying in place and waiting to be berated.

There was a small crowd, all in various stages of patting Barnum on the back and asking him how he’s been. Barnum was smiling in an unusually shy manner against all of the attention when he locked eyes with Philip and immediately used that to pull himself out of conversation with practiced elegance. After a series of ‘talk to you later’s the two ended up walking outside behind the main tent, a barely decorated space dotted with clots of grass.

“You stopped visiting. The entire circus thought your bad ideas finally caught up to you.” Philip threw a customary half-smile but dropped it when Barnum just watched the sky with a blank face. “Any reason for the sudden visit?” He wasn’t used to long silences with this one-man-band of energy and charisma.

It took Barnum a small forced smile and another scope of the horizon to answer, “Think you could find a job spot for me, Mr. Carlyle? The circus looks like it’s really flourishing, good work on that by the way.” There was a laugh in his voice but Philip had listened to far too much ranting from this man and knew when something wasn’t genuine.

Honestly, he looked – dare Philip say – _wilted_.

“Back to take on the stage?”

“God forbid,” Barnum chuckled, they kept walking, “I don’t know, something like harness duty, maybe costuming? Give me a broom if you hate me so.”

“Mr. Barnum, I think you need actual training for the harness part,” Philip mocked and felt his spirits lift when the other let out a small laugh in return.

“First, drop the formality nonsense, for once I don’t have the right to fire you if you get on my nerves. And two, I trust you to find me some side-job, back when I had to run this we were always short on backstage.”

“Better not be expecting ten percent of the income with a spot like that, I love doing solo but duets are better with you-” what the fuck, save that now, “- for the audience’s overall mood.” Good save, “So if you ever feel like coming back full force, the spot’s open.” Philip gave himself a mental pat on the back as their walk came to a stop, having reached the end of the property.

“Thank you,” Barnum’s eyes were out for the sky again, gaze going past the fence and getting lost in the vastness of the evening, “but I’m good with minimum wage for now. How has the business been going?”

Change of subject or just making so-how’s-today’s-weather chat? Philip let it slip with an internalized curiosity, “Good. Growing as always: we got two new tight rope walkers, this really tall guy – Jeremy – from Denmark, a new elephant… The public’s warmed up,” he chuckled, “the team has warmed up to me too.” They started heading back and Barnum looked like he’d actually absorbed a bit of the fresh air, having lost his eye-bags at least a degree.

“Getting started today or..?”

Barnum shrugged and shed his suit jacket, folding it carefully over his forearm, “Why not?”

\---

Philip would have stayed late after closing again – to sort through godforsaken taxes and bills – but while everyone was wrapping up and waving their goodbyes, his eyes landed on a lingering Barnum.

He watched the way Barnum’s face kind of… ‘fell’ wasn’t the correct word. It was such a gradual descend from the elated happiness of working as a team again to some resigned, ‘I’m used to this’ sadness that the only way he could label it was ‘dimming’. The dimming of Barnum’s typical liveliness – like that time after the fire.

The brain cells that weren’t absorbed with marveling at the elasticity of Barnum’s face did a quick vote and Philip ended up jogging over to- “Hey, wanna join me for a small celebration? A new bar opened down East Road,” wow, smart move. Wait – no shit – _actual_ _smart move: Barnum’s smiling._

And so the evening found them at Joey’s Place, nursing some beers and whining to each other in the customary manner only men do.

Philip’s new, so to say, responsibilities had taught him the hard way to not get shitfaced before a work-day, leaving him only slightly tipsy for the rest of the night, slowly losing his Good Aristocrat Manners. Barnum on the other hand – while with more experience under his belt – ended up with a few more glasses and a much looser tongue.

After listening to Philip quietly bitch about his dad threatening to replicate the fire as a joke _but what if he’s not joking? He rehired half his staff once just to prove a point, for god’s sake, his ego is stronger than your attitude!_ , there was a lull in conversation. They were at the end of the bar, running over the wall of bottles with sluggish eyes, marinating in the pleasant warmth of the room.

Philip watched Barnum out of the corner of his eye; watched his stare wander off and once again lose its warm intensity. Oh he shouldn’t dig, he really shouldn’t dig, but oops filter what filter, “So… you haven’t visited in-” trying to figure out the months, Philip had a strong urge to look at his wristwatch, “- a while. And now you show up-” where was his _fucking filter,_ “all sad-eyed and all,” please stop talking, “like those cows that just kind of stare at you.”

Barnum was silent and Philip really couldn’t tell if it was bafflement at the remark or just him trying to process the words and form a reply. He took another sip of his beer as emotional compensation.

Barnum never replied. Philip eventually broke and started to murmur-rant about how the tents sucked when it rained. Barnum hardly reacted to that either, hardly noticed that Philip had half-rotated in his stool to lazily drape to one side, no longer coherent enough to hide his gaze in his glass.

He talked out of a disparity, mostly, feeling the need to fill the space that Barnum’s empty eyes left vacant. They took their leave around the _and that’s why we not longer allow sugar backstage_ point in Philip’s shot at a story he kept getting the details mixed up for. Splitting ways outside the bar doors felt somehow inappropriate- on _my_ end, Philip corrected himself, knowing that Barnum’s head was as much a mystery as he’d always been. Albeit a fucking miserable one this time.

Philip considered going home but ended up at the circus anyway, stumbling into the green room without lighting a singly lantern, and crashed on the battered veteran of a couch.

\---

No show today. Only hangover and poor, poor, sore muscles for Philip. He needed to replace the couch. Like everything else in this roach-hole of an establishment. He caught himself wondering how much of that was morning grumbly-ness or sincere opinion at the state of affairs.

The state of affairs improved marginally when Barnum turned up for work, fashionably late but with just enough politeness to not land in trouble.

God, _trouble?_ He wouldn’t get into trouble. Philip knew this. He’d never find the heart to do so much as scold the man, no matter how much he needed that sometimes.

Barnum wore plain clothes and Philip felt the weight of a hung up and dusty red suit somewhere in a closet more than he had ever. Considered offering Barnum the stage one more fruitless time but never did. Caught up in rehearsal, in the lights and the music, and accidentally catching Barnum’s radiant yet secret smile pointed at him from backstage.

It went like this for weeks.

Three to be certain. No one asked around, no tabloids had anything to say about the notorious king of the freaks making his return, yet a return that left him hidden in the shadows and the risers of the show. Philip wondered, of course he wondered. He didn’t wonder out loud though. Barnum brought him lunch.

It was routine now, one that tasted like sunshine- no matter how little of it they saw now that autumn approached. They sat out on a hodge-podge bench behind the large tent, watching birds bop around the fence.

“How do you like it?” Barnum smiled, picking at the crust of his sandwich, having an infuriating habit of eating the bread first and the ingredients later. Weirdo.

“If you’re asking me about my opinion on that new corset museum by the fifth, I personally haven’t been.”

Barnum laughed, a deep-seated sound that reminded Philip of a drum solo amidst a song. “God, stop bringing that up, you bastard.” He sobered a bit, still grinning though, and Philip didn’t feel like watching the birds anymore at all, having found something infinitely more alluring. “I mean the circus. Being center stage.”

Philip felt a soft smile crawl onto his face, and realized he hasn’t thought about that nearly at all. Too caught up in the rush and the loud brashness of theater that he never had a breath enough to… just stop and consider how this made him feel. All this. The velvety suit that’d been made as a replica of Barnum’s, the claps on the back after a good show, the early mornings with stacks of paperwork, the long dark nights his dad’s words got to eat away at him too loudly.

Barnum continued watching him.

Philip knew he could answer simple- half lie, half pleasantry: something along the lines of _I love it, I am made for the stage._ That’s not true though and something tugged in his chest when he considered such shallow admission in front of this overly-sincere and passionate man that’s raised a community from a dream.

“I don’t know.” Philip said. As true as it’d get.

Barnum chuckled- it’s something that’d improved over the last month. He smiled more now.

“You come onto stage every other night and you don’t know?”

“Jealous, old man?”

Barnum chewed through a single tomato, “Yeah, yeah, joke all you like, but I’ll be outliving all of you.”

“You almost did.” It’d slipped out quietly, cold in the breeze.

Barnum looked at him calmly, settled for once and waiting for Philip to go on. He did.

“Thank you. I don’t remember if I ever said it, y’know, outright.” He picked at his own food, not bringing it to his mouth, “Thanks for storming into a collapsing building to grab me out when I’d been nothing but a smarmy little rich kid who’d breathed down your neck about taxes.” He tried to laugh here but it’d come out almost forced.

“Couldn’t let my best buddy die.” Barnum’s words sounded joking- or would’ve if Philip didn’t know him better than he did himself sometimes.

“Likewise. Whatever shit you’ve been going through, I’m here. So is the circus. You know where to find us.”

_Oh, should have NOT opened your big fat mouth to speak there-_

Barnum smiled again, having angled to face Philip over the course of the last minutes. It quieted the internal consistent panic-soliloquy that he had to live with. Working wonders, that man, like usual.

“That’s why I’m here.” He’d turned back to the birds, still there, constant and barely skirting under the acceptable decibel. “I suppose I thank you in turn. For not picking at my bones or anything and just letting me be around and all.”

“We all have our shit to deal with.” Philip watched the birds too, pulse heavy and face warm.

“Really, I couldn’t have asked for more,” Barnum laughed again then, a polite kind of chitter, “What’s gotten into me? No space for melancholy such a fine morning.”

\---

Philip turned up to the circus with nowhere else to go, really, pants muddy at the cuffs and missing his usual vest if not suit. It’d gotten dark and his very well-settled plan was to crash on that one…. That _one_ couch again, and change into his stage outfit into the morning- no problem.

Except one problem: Barnum hadn’t left.

Okay, so maybe he’d stepped out from the shadows holding a sandbag, dead silent and registering as _oh fuck it’s ghosts_ in Philip’s side vision. Maybe Philip screamed and took about twenty steps back, which made Barnum freak out and drop the bag by accident.

Maybe now they were standing over a busted sandbag, Barnum sweaty and sandy, and Philip miserable and muddy.

“What the fuck are you doing here so late?” Philip’s exhaustion dragged him away from really being… upset… just confused really.

“Could ask you the very same. Stealing money from the vault?”

“Don’t put ideas in my head, Barnum.”

“Not to make your obviously bad mood worse but you look horrible.”

“Tactful as always. I’m regrettably aware.” Philip sighed at the sand and mourned the work that’d have to be done in the morning. “My father has a knack for dismantling my life from every possible angle.”

Barnum looked at him, and while Philip kept his gaze stubbornly downcast in self-preservation, he could feel those eyes like a heated blanket. Not unpleasant but also worrying in their intention.

“Think 11 is a good time for a cup of tea?” Barnum spoke and it was like a wax seal on the envelope of Philip’s evening plans (sleeping on couch).

They ended up at Barnum’s offensively impressive place shortly after. Philip wasn’t unused to such architecture and interior design, but for a man who ate with his hands, Barnum hinted at a more humble way of living. Philip was vaguely aware of his spit-stain of a past, and considered that reason enough. Barnum brewed tea.

“You stop me if you ever want me to shut up, yeah?” Barnum brought his cup over and sat across from Philip at the kitchen, cast in a warm evening light.

“Trust me, I’ve got that bit already well figured out.”

“You doing okay?”

Philip sat, staring at the ripples in his tea scatter from every exhale.

Whatever, fuck it, this was a sincerity enough, he’d looked around the place a bit out of sheer visual route, and the lack of any personal items in the house screamed of long-steepled loneliness. He’d figured there were family problems in Barnum’s dumpster of a personal life, but this looked permanent. He wasn’t a dull man, could figure out what it meant when a man showed back up at the circus looking like a kicked dog.

If Barnum could invite him into this bubble of silence, Philip could at least fill it with conversation of his own troubles.

“Every time I get something figured out, it’s like my dad gets a letter telling him, _your son is starting to feel alright!_ And then he has to go and of course tactically counteract that. All the time like that since birth. Like, I get that being raised into a family with a name comes with restrictions but I’m no bloody teenager anymore!” He had to set his cup down, hands itching to fly about and push his point, “Yeah maybe I want to try different things! Maybe I _want_ to get conned into running a circus by a madman with a dazzling smile and horrible ideas in a bar? What the hell! Yeah, if it doesn’t work out, it’ll suck as all shit, but _what if it doesn’t fall through?_ Yeah, look, I’ve got me a steady income, a name people know and a face they recognize, and I’ve got a family that’s much better than anything this one could dream of becoming! Shut the fuck up!” Philip slapped his palms against the table, feeling a bit like he’d rambled too far, fuming, teeth on the verge of clatter. “Fuck, I’m cold.”

That seemed to snap Barnum out of an intense type of attention, jumping up, “Crap, you’re soaked, right, right, I’ll get you a change, follow me.”

Barnum handed him pajamas, and Philip squinted because that was certainly an… uh.. a _choice_. What kind? Who knows.

“Your dad wants you living out his own dreams and you’re out here having found something he’d never even… experience.” Barnum said it still facing away, holding onto a folded vest he’d pulled out to get to something else in the drawer. It’s sudden and unexpected and catches Philip a bit off footing. He listens quietly.

Barnum had set the vest down, yet to otherwise move, “Don’t let his age and wisdom or whatever extinguish your heart and passion. That’d be the worst dying of the best light.” He turned around, face open and honestly comforting in its familiarity, and that same, burning kind of love for the world that Philip had first encountered on that pivotal night out at the bar when they’d first met.

“Don’t make me cry, that’d be incredibly rude.” Philip grinned but it came out crooked and a bit twitchy at the sides.

“You know I’ve got a talent for being incredibly rude, so I’m not sure what you were expecting,” Barnum clapped him on the arm, hard enough to make him stumble a bit in turn.

“Nothing other than this, nothing other than this,” Philip followed him out of the room, directed elsewhere to change into the marginally oversized clothes.

\---

He now stopped at Barnum’s much more than he’d ever felt compelled to with anyone else. He’d had his fair share of study friends and work pals but Barnum was well versed in the breaking down of convention, and somehow lured Philip into having dinner with him far too often for the likes of Philip’s family and common sense.

Considering he worked in a circus, maybe thwarting his family and common sense was a common topic in Philip’s life.

Barnum was also a … mediocre cook at _best._ Having been exposed to this, Philip refused to let it go for an inappropriate number of jokes, finally having discovered a skill Barnum didn’t immediately take by the horns.

Philip found himself cooking sometimes, as he – _unlike some people –_ had been properly raised.

Barnum regarded him from a safe distance, where he’d been banished to after getting his hand into the sauce. “Yeah, having no theater education is cool and all, but have you thought of joining an actual acting troupe just to piss on your dad?”

“Unless you’re planning on a comeback, I am not equipped to direct both the circus and subject myself to another play,” Philip mixed the frying vegetables, “There’s enough drama in the family as it is, and while I enjoy making my father’s life difficult, he has a thing for making mine difficult in turn.”

“What’s the worst he can do? I’ve seen him, I doubt that man can ax you to death.”

“What a warming idea.” Philip sighed with good humor, “But I also doubt he’d stop short of bodily mutilation. Then he’d be able to hide me in some room at the estate and pretend he never had a son.” Philip laughed.

Barnum grabbed a spatula, waving it in the air, “Worry not! You-” he pointed it at Philip with a glint in his eyes and a smile across his face, “You will be well protected by no other than _me._ ”

Philip laughed, batting the offending instrument away, “What will you do to him? Threaten him with kitchenware? He’ll shut down your entire life.” Barnum papped his shoulder with the spatula throughout him trying to speak, drawing more giggles from Philip- _fuck, giggles._

“I don’t know,” Barnum tossed the spatula, it flipped through the air and he caught it, “What’s he hate?”

“Me, mostly.”

“Then I will impersonate you so horribly he will have to cease and desist.” Barnum immediately slid into Philip’s space and bumped into his side, shoulder firm against Philip’s, assuming the same pose Philip was stirring the food in, “Father, father, I’m running away with a crazed group of weirdos! Pay me my allowance!” His voice pitched higher as he mocked.

“Oh, oh, very funny, very original, good impression.” Philip bumped back against him and Barnum didn’t move away, Philip had to keep a better eye on the food now so it wouldn’t get contaminated by Barnum’s meddling, but it was a small price to pay for the calmness that washed over him with the stability of his friend there. “What am I then? Oh, I know,” Philip moved the vegetables onto two plates, placing them down on the counter and moving to a nearby chair, hopping on and striking a pose, “I am going to stand in inappropriate places and scam people into giving me money! I am the great Barnum!”

Barnum leaned on the kitchen counter, grinning and chuckling, “Only a chair? You underestimate me, that wouldn’t sell anyone _anything._ ” He pushed off the leaning position and walked up onto a chair and then onto the kitchen table- _ok unhygienic but fuck does he look good doing it, so in his element when he’s out of everyone else’s –_ “Now _this_ is what gets people throwing money! You’ve still to learn.”

“Oh? I think I’m doing just _swimmingly-_ ” Philip stepped onto the table as well- seemingly a sturdy one – feeling a smile break his face in two, “Since I don’t think anyone’s forgotten how I swindled you right back into that sweet, sweet deal- what was it? 80%?”

“Fifty. Don’t flatter yourself,” Barnum spread his arm and Philip could feel the heat radiating from him, crowding on the smooth wood surface of somewhere he’d never think he’d find himself standing.

“ _Oh Philip, here’s the entire circus, Philip, I’m gonna go vanish and you can have all of this!_ ” Philip pitched his voice low and began doing unnecessary hand gestures, drawing wonderful, wonderful laughter from Barnum and a weak ‘I don’t sound like that’.

“Yes you do- _Here, wear my suit and take over all the numbers, you’re so good at this Philip, I love you Philip, have 100% of the share, Philip!”_ He cackled at Barnum’s mock anger, feeling the oncome of another bit-

“ _Oh, father, oops, I own a circus now and have no interest in whatever life path you wanted me to follow! Sorry, I’ve fallen in love with the peanut-smell life!_ ” Barnum lay his hand on his chest, looking up at the ceiling in overplayed sorrow, “ _What will you do with your peanut-smelling son? My heart only has space for elephants and zebras now!”_

Philip lightly kicked at Barnum’s shin, “Hey, my heart isn’t that small, I have space for more.”

“Yeah like?”

“Like…Ten things at _least_ …” Philip held up both hands.

“No, I don’t think so, take lower.”

“Five things.”

“No, like, three, Philip.” Barnum was teasing him with that rehearsed and familiar taste of long time friendship, “And that’s still a stretch.”

“Two? Really? What, elephants, zebras-”

“And _me!_ ” Barnum cut in, clearly on the hem of a joke, but Philip’s mouth ran away from him and delivered a very unfortunate line right in turn.

“Hey now, I think you take a bit more residence in my heart than some elephants.”

In hindsight, that line was too long to have been a bloody accident. Philip knew this about half way through the sentence and absolutely had time to brace for the impact, realizing the delivery of said admission hadn’t been joking enough too pass radars. He’s ruined, atop a table, he’s about to die.

Barnum didn’t laugh this time, standing there with his arms still lightly spread, the most unfair, freaking… softest look on his face. Philip absolutely panicked. For all his promise as an actor, Barnum really did bring out the worst in him, as he did now, absolutely canceling Philip’s option of schooling his face blank. Philip was absolutely damnably aware of his face doing a quick tour through the five stages of grief minus the acceptance part.

“I find myself aware of… Something similar.” Barnum drawled through a smile, the kind that crinkled his eyes and made him look so impossibly huggable. “I may have _some_ care for the elephants but I doubt they’d ever compare.”

They stood on that goddamn table, Philip feeling his guts slowly getting twisted into anxiety by his own traitor of a tongue- going around and saying shit before thinking… Barnum placed a light hand at Philip’s side.

“If this is quite alright, my dear.” His face, searching and open.

“Don’t pretend to be polite, I know you too well.” Philip didn’t dare move, lest Barnum interpret his nervousness as rejection.

“Then I can’t imagine why you still chose this kitchen over nightly pubs.”

A good moment to be brave, this was.

“Nightly pubs may hold the liquor but not you, I suppose.”

“Scandalous.” And then Barnum leaned down, stepping into Philip’s space to some unexplored extremity. They kissed for what didn’t feel like any time at all before Philip’s foot stepped off the table.

\--

“So you sprained your wrist while doing what?”

“Rigging the safety net.”

“Rigging the safety net. Alright Philip, alright.”

The juggler left with the air of a won argument and there was squat Philip could do about it. Barnum chose that exact moment to appear as if summoned by inconvenience.

“Wow, when’d we start rigging nets underneath collapsing kitchen tables?”

“Yeah, who knew your house’s furniture was all shit.” Peter bit back – the gutting feeling of a fall from moderate yet unexpected height still fresh in his chest. “Honestly, not out of character…”

Barnum wrinkled his nose, “Sorry my father doesn’t mail me seven tons of cash every month.” He dodged the awkward punch (Philip’s wrist, you see, was not a convenient asset when it came to inflicting violence) that came his way. “Should’ve watched your footing.”

“Should’ve bought a better table.”

“Well I’ll _have_ to now, or else we’ll be eating on the floor.”

“Somehow, I doubt you’ve never done that.”

Barnum remained blissfully silent.

Not for long enough. “How are you going to perform with one hand?”

Philip started on his way back to his office in order to pick up his suit. Show’s in a few hours, everyone’s getting ready with the calm air of practice. “Dancing doesn’t require much and it in no way impedes my ability to talk loudly and introduce acts. What am I going to miss my hand for? Extravagant gestures?”

Barnum, to little surprise, tailed him, “What if you fall again and sprain your other wrist?”

“Then I’ll be one unfortunate bastard and you’ll be making my tea for a week.”

“Like I already don’t.” Barnum sighed with feigned exhaustion, “Worry not, I’ll make your tea and tie your shoes and massage your back all you require.”

Philip’s eyes raced around the hallway, “What the hell, shut your mouth, you’ll send us both the jail.”

“I think if I ever were to be incarcerated again, it’d be for arson.”

“First off, again?” They reached the room, “And two, how dare you threaten arson when you could’ve died as so?”

Barnum watched him remove his ringmaster suit and sat on Philip’s desk. Entitled bitch. “I won’t elaborate on the first. On the topic of the latter, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Including tax evasion.”

Philip started to strip very carefully, maneuvering his immobile wrist with the air of someone who’s not prone to getting injured. Barnum watched for long enough to make his involvement in it unexpected when he stood up and came over to Philip in order to help button his shirt. The oppressive loom of Barnum, Philip discovered, had at some point become comforting.

“You’re going out on stage and you can’t even button a shirt.”

“You’re a grown man and you can’t even deal with your feelings.”

Barnum sent him a sharp stare, tugging at the collar of said shirt with pointed force, “Don’t threaten me when you’re one hand short of coming close to fight condition.”

“That wasn’t even a threat, you emotional fortress,” Philip laughed rather merrily, patting Barnum’s sides and letting his hands rest there.

“Don’t make me unbutton this shirt after working so hard to make you presentable.”

Philip felt his face burn, “You’re abhorrent.”

Barnum’s words from then on are all purred against Philip’s neck. This is new, this is hands-down terrifying, and it feels like finally ridding oneself of a decade-long toothache. There’s no time before the show, he cannot afford this, says as much.

And yet, in the face of paramount joy, it is of little import.

**Author's Note:**

> since this has been.... 3 years now in the making feel free to hmu w typos if you find them lmao I don't trust 2017me to write properly


End file.
